


a little bitter, mostly sweet

by Deisderium



Series: tits out, lads [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Image, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky's Insecure, Chocolate, Cooking, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Washing, Less Ridiculous Than Usual, Light Angst, M/M, More Feels Than Are Typical of This Series, Post-Battle of Azzano (Marvel), Self-Doubt, Showing Love Through Cooking, but still pretty fluffy, high emotional threadcount
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: After Azzano, Steve and Bucky take a weekend, and Steve takes care of Bucky.





	a little bitter, mostly sweet

It was really helpful to have connections. Bucky had been poked and prodded by medical for going on two days, and just when he thought he wouldn't be able to stand it without screaming for a minute longer, Steve Rogers stuck his head in the tent and commandeered him. Or anyway, Captain America did.

"He's got leave," Steve had said, and handed a packet of papers over to the doctor, who had shrugged, made some notes in Bucky's file, and let him go.

Not only did Steve break him out of the doctors' clutches, he had gotten them both leave for a whole weekend, and leaned on Agent Carter for the use of a house on the outskirts of London, and...here they were, the Jeep parked in the gravel drive, Bucky sucking on a cigarette and leaning against the hood as the engine ticked, cooling, behind him. He blew out a cloud of smoke, trying to ignore how he didn’t seem to get anything out of it anymore.

Bucky didn't like the thought of how easily Steve had gotten so large a favor, and what it said about the relationship between Steve and Carter, any more than he had liked the way they looked at each other when what was left of the 107th had staggered into camp.

But that was something he could ask Steve about, if it came to it. Steve had asked Carter for the house for the two of them, not for himself and Carter. If it was a problem, he'd just talk to Steve about it. No sense borrowing trouble when they had plenty enough already.

"Hey, Buck," Steve called, leaning out the second story—first storey? Bucky hadn't had the chance to get used to the way the Brits numbered the floors in their buildings—window, the curves of his muscles visible even through the wool of his uniform. "You coming up?"

Bucky dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it beneath his boot. "Be right there."

Steve had already carted in his own luggage and several string bags full of groceries in, so Bucky grabbed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, and pushed in the front door.

It was a nice house, with a kitchen that he could have paid more attention to, and a sitting room, but honestly, he was more interested in what was upstairs, because that was where Steve was. He took the stairs two at a time, duffel bouncing against his back. It left him more breathless than he'd have liked, and his head was swimming by the time he reached the second (first?) floor.

"Which room are we in?" he called from the hallway, and Steve's giant blond head popped out of a door to the right, and Bucky tried to suppress the dissonance of still expecting Steve to look how he used to.

Steve plucked his bag off his back and grabbed his hand, pulling him in closer, and Bucky swallowed right before Steve leaned down and kissed him, and shit, Bucky could still barely believe that he got to do this.

Bucky let his hands creep up, feeling along Steve's biceps, over his shoulder, wrapping around his back and squeezing him even closer. He was still trying to wrap his head around the reality of this new, giant, brick shithouse of a Steve, who picked up motorcycles with people sitting on them like it was nothing.

He couldn't remember the exact moment he'd realized that he wanted his best friend the way he wanted the dames he took out dancing. It had been part of him for as long as he could remember wanting anyone at all, along with the knowledge that no one could ever know, least of all Steve himself. He'd been afraid: not afraid that this would drive Steve away, because Steve had defended Arnie Roth's honor from assholes who were mad that he went with fellas on more than one occasion, but that this would be the thing that made Steve see him differently, that turned their friendship into something else.

And it had; he'd just never let himself hope that what it would turn into was something more.

"Come on, Buck," Steve said, pulling back just far enough to speak, his lips moving over Bucky's stubble. "There's a bathtub that might fit both of us."

Bucky actually groaned at the thought of it, because he hadn't been able to do much more than scrub at the filth encrusting him with a wet washcloth, mindful of the scrapes that were healing worryingly fast. "Let's try," he said.

They didn't even bother unpacking besides getting the food squared away in the kitchen. Steve ran the water while Bucky stretched out on the bed, listening to the splash of the tub filling and Steve moving around, humming quietly to himself. His voice was just as deep as it had been before, and if Bucky ignored the way everything smelled wrong and how he felt like his insides had been scraped raw with a rusty razor blade except for the pit of hunger in his belly that had become a part of him, he could pretend they were back in Brooklyn and Steve was pouring the kettle into their tin bathtub for washday. He let himself drift a little in the memory of it, until a large, warm hand settled on his hip.

He opened his eyes. Steve was standing over him, smiling down at him, and the fondness in his eyes was almost too much. He had thought he was going to die on that table without ever seeing this again.

He smiled, wrapped his hand around Steve's wrist and let himself be drawn upward, abdominal muscles tightening as he sat up. Steve had already taken his button-down shirt off and was only in his undershirt and trousers, cotton clinging to the curve of his chest, damp and translucent where he'd gotten it wet. Bucky hadn't been able to get his hands on Steve nearly enough while he was stuck in the medical tent, so he reached out now and traced the swell of Steve's enormous pecs. He didn't want to stop touching them, mentally comparing them to the slighter curve of the narrow chest he remembered, that he had wanted to get his hands on just as much.

He brushed over Steve's nipples, hard enough that he could see them through the shirt, just as pink as they'd been in Brooklyn. Steve sucked in a breath.

"Yeah?" Bucky said, watching his face.

"More sensitive than I used to be," Steve said, a blush sweeping over his face, but he didn't look away. "Come on, let's get in the tub."

It was a fancy claw-foot number, bigger than the tin tub they'd had at home. Steam was rising off the water, and Steve had put something in it that smelled good.

Steve shucked his shirt with no hesitation, but Bucky hesitated, suddenly nervous. It had been one thing in the woods, jamming their hands down each other’s pants with the happy desperation of two men suddenly getting exactly what they wanted. But this was different; stripping with deliberation, letting Steve look at him. Steve had seen him in various states of undress all their lives, of course, but Bucky wasn't exactly at his fighting weight anymore. He was too skinny, and Steve was a fucking Adonis all of a sudden, and he knew it didn't matter, but—

Steve turned, hand on his fly, and whatever expression was on Bucky's face must have been one he could read all too easily. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged him closer, then slid his hands under, against Bucky's skin. His hands were big enough now to span Bucky's stomach, and warm, not cold like they used to be even in summer, and he dragged them slowly up Bucky's torso, the fabric pooling over his wrists as he went higher.

Bucky's skin pebbled as Steve smoothed the shirt up over his chest, up his arms, his tags falling back to his sternum with a muted jingle. Steve pulled the shirt over his head, and then Bucky was shivering a little in the cold air, and Steve was looking him over, taking in every jut of his ribs, the concave curve of his belly. Bucky felt exposed, but Steve pulled him closer, cradled against his naked chest, and where they touched was nothing but warmth and the glide of skin against skin as Steve folded him in his giant arms.

After a few seconds that Bucky could have stayed in forever, Steve's hands dropped to the buttons of Bucky's fly and then he was pulling Bucky's waistband over his hips.

"Get in," he said quietly. "You're cold."

Bucky was, so he did, and then he got to watch as Steve stripped off the rest of his clothes, until he was down to his skin and his dog tags. There was just so much of him, and Bucky didn't try to hide the way he drank him in. He'd gotten a quick look at him before, but this was different. All of him was on display, the curve of his biceps, his broad shoulders, the long lines of his thighs, his cock half-hard. Bucky wanted to touch him all over.

"Come on," he said. "You were right, we're both going to fit." It would be a close squeeze, but somehow Bucky didn't think either of them would mind. After a moment of wrangling for who would get to sit where, Steve slid in behind Bucky, and pulled him back so he was leaning against Steve's chest.

"S'good," Steve said. Bucky felt the rumble of his voice against his back, and he relaxed a little more against him.

"Yeah," Bucky said, "it is." 

Steve let him sit for a few minutes, the two of them soaking up the heat, and then Steve took a bar of soap off the edge of the tub and lathered his hands up. It was a much nicer soap than the harsh-smelling yellow bars in the barracks, creamy pale and smelling of roses. Bucky wondered if it had come with the house or if Steve had brought it with him, but not enough to ask. He was content to listen to the small splashes as Steve moved, to feel the shift of his muscles against his back.

Then Steve swiped one of his soapy hands over Bucky's chest and Bucky bowed up without meaning to, and Steve brought his other hand around to slide over his ribs.

"Shh, Buck, I've got you," Steve said, and Bucky made himself lie back again instead of shoving forward into Steve's hands like he wanted to. 

Steve washed him, slowly and thoroughly. There was a washcloth on the side of the washtub, but Steve ignored it, instead stopping to lather his hands as needed, running them along Bucky's sides, over his shoulders, along his arms, down to his hands and fingers; down his spine, along the wings of his shoulder blades. Bucky was breathing hard before Steve's hands even soaped up his armpits and slid forward to trace a path over his nipples. Both of them drew in a breath at that, and Bucky let his head fall back on Steve's shoulder. Steve leaned forward to kiss him, and his hard cock pressed up against Bucky's back. His fingers, still slippery in the soapy water, lingered on Bucky's chest, tracing the curve of his muscles, teasing over his nipples.

"Steve," Bucky said. "Come on."

Steve dipped the washcloth into the water and ran it over Bucky's face. Bucky closed his eyes and kept his head on Steve's collarbone while Steve traced the lines of his cheekbones, his neck.

It rang a chord somewhere deep inside Bucky because he had done this before for Steve, when Steve was sick and Bucky wanted to make him feel better. Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky's temple and murmured, "Can I wash your hair?"

"Yeah." Bucky tilted his head back to wet it, sliding down Steve until he was submerged, then resurfacing. Steve had a handful of something that smelled like rosemary waiting, and he dug long, strong fingers into Bucky's scalp, working through all of his hair. His hands were bigger, and hotter, but his fingers had always been long, and this felt the same as the other occasions he'd washed Bucky's hair for him: when Bucky was sick, or hungover.

Steve gently tilted his head back to rinse his hair clean, then wrapped an arm around his chest. He felt protected, and he must not ever have made Steve feel quite like this, because Steve had always been so ready to refuse a helping hand and all Bucky wanted to do was sink back and let Steve take care of him. Maybe it made him weaker than Steve, but he'd always known Steve was the brave one of the two of them, and at the moment he couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

Steve's hands slid down his torso again, resting on the curve of his ribcage. Bucky leaned back and Steve pulled him closer. "Ready to get out?" Steve said against his neck. Bucky nodded and leaned forward to pull the drain loose, watching the cooling water swirl as it began to drain.

Steve stood behind him, the water sloshing with his movements. Bucky turned to look over his shoulder, and it turned out that was a tactical error. Still sitting, he was at looking-up-at-dick level. Steve was more than half-hard, and that was fine. More than fine; Bucky was hard too.

He turned so that he was kneeling and ran his hands up Steve's legs. They were so long now; thick with muscle but lean, relative to the muscle that broadened his upper body. Hairy too, which was a change from his chicken legs. Bucky allowed himself a moment to regret that he had never gotten a look at Steve from this angle before he got himself made so large. It wasn't that he regretted Steve the way he was now, only that he was greedy enough to wish he'd gotten both.

He lingered over the hard muscles of Steve's thighs, digging his fingers in a little, watching the way Steve's abdomen tightened as Bucky's hands followed the curve of Steve's thighs to the inevitable conclusion and wrapped around his cock. He hadn’t really had a chance to get a good look in the woods. It was big, and Bucky had a moment of trepidation trying to figure out how he was going to get it all in his mouth, but he’d wanted to do this for so long, and he wasn’t going to blow this chance.

"Oh, Buck," Steve said, and Bucky tightened his grasp on Steve's dick. Steve looked down at him, his eyes nearly all pupil, and Bucky leaned close enough to get his mouth on the head of his cock, flattening his tongue and licking as he worked his way down. He'd thought about this, so many times, how it would be similar to going down on a woman, how it would be different. There were differences, of course there were, but what was the same was the way it made him feel to drag those sounds out of another person, and it was better now, because it was Steve moaning and saying his name. 

Bucky shivered as his skin cooled in the air, and Steve put his hands on his shoulders and pulled him up. "Let's get you warm," he said, and pulled a plush towel off the rack next to the tub. He wrapped it around Bucky and slowly rubbed him dry. Steve was still wet, but he radiated heat, and Bucky let himself lean against him as Steve dried his back, his arms from shoulder to fingertip, then straightened as Steve knelt to dry his legs from thigh to foot.

Bucky watched the path he too and felt a little uncertain at the ropiness of the muscles in his legs, the jut of his hipbones, but Steve didn't seem to care. He looked up at Bucky and his eyes were intent and dark, his pupils wide. He kissed a path up Bucky's legs, then his torso, and then dried himself off much more perfunctorily. 

"Let's go to bed," he said, and there was nothing Bucky had ever wanted more. He followed Steve into a room that was decorated in some way and full of objects that reflected the owners' taste, he was sure, but the only thing he saw was the bed, wide enough for two and with the coverlet already pulled invitingly back.

Steve pulled him close and wrapped his enormous arms around him. Bucky shivered again, but this time not from cold. Steve was so strong now, it beggared belief; he had seen him casually lift a jeep that had been stuck in the mud. When Steve's arms tensed and he lifted Bucky onto the bed, it wasn't at all surprising that he could do it.

The only surprise was how much Bucky liked it. 

He let himself fall back, sprawled against the down pillows, his body lax and splayed out, except for his hard cock. Steve loomed over him, ran his hands up Bucky's legs again as he crawled between them.

"You know, I was in the middle of something," Bucky said.

"Yeah," Steve said, "but I want to take care of you." 

His big hands curved around the meat of Bucky's too-skinny thighs and spread him wide.

"Christ, Steve, whatever you want," Bucky managed to say, and then Steve was crawling up him, his dog tags dangling over the vast expanse of his chest.

"I want you," Steve said.

And what the fuck was Bucky to say in response to that? Especially when Steve followed it up by diving onto Bucky's dick like it was a banquet and he was a starving man.

"Steve—" Bucky managed, and then he couldn't say much else. His hips rocked forward without his conscious intention and Steve pinned his hips with one large hand, a warm weight holding him against the bed. Steve looked at him from under his long gold eyelashes, still moving, his lips red and stretched around Bucky's cock and _god_ he'd never seen anything as pretty.

Steve licked and sucked, and Bucky thought maybe he had died on the table after all, and this was his reward for every good thing he had done over the course of his life. The muscles in Steve's back bunched as he moved, and some connection in Bucky's brain sparked and shorted out.

He had thought of this so many times without thinking that it would ever, ever happen, but in his imagination, the curve of the jaw had been different, though the length of the lashes was about the same. Steve's back in his daydreams had been a sparse, elegant, slightly asymmetrical line, easily bridged by the span of his hands, and now it was all lines of rippling muscle, and Bucky was here for it either way; only everything he'd dreamed of for long needed to be seen through a different lens.

Steve's left hand was still holding Bucky still as he writhed and sighed. Steve's right hand started moving, over the tensed muscles of Bucky's thigh, up to the base of his cock where Steve was valiantly bobbing, his cheek hollowed as he sucked. Bucky moaned at the sight of him, so different, but still so beautiful. Steve could reincarnate himself a thousand times and Bucky would always want him. 

Steve's hand moved closer, cupping Bucky's balls for a moment that made Bucky arch up, pressing against the hand that held him down.

"Steve," he begged, not even knowing what he wanted, but asking for it anyway.

Steve's hand moved lower, brushed against the tight muscle of his hole, and Bucky jolted as though he'd had an electric shock.

"I can't—I don't know—" He didn't even know where the sounds that were coming out of him were coming from.

"Do you want it?" Steve said.

"Fuck, if you want to give it to me, I want it," Bucky said, and it was maybe the most honest thing that he'd ever said. "Anything."

"Hold still, then," Steve murmured into his hipbone, and then he got to watch Steve angling his hips up a little and pulling his legs apart again, and then Steve was sucking his dick, and Bucky was moaning at the ceiling.

Bucky felt Steve moving his fingers into his mouth alongside Bucky's dick, but he wasn't in a position to do much about it besides rock forward and gasp into the air. His chest was heaving with each breath, the space between each rib defined with a dip of skin, such a contrast to Steve's smooth, muscular bulk. But he couldn't think about that when Steve was dragging his fingers out of his mouth, slick with spit, and pressing one against his hole.

Bucky tried to relax as Steve pressed into him. It was a strange sensation, at first, but Steve went slowly, his mouth still dragging along Bucky's cock, and that helped: the pleasure and the discomfort mingling together. Then Steve's finger was past the ring of muscle and _oh_.

Steve made an inquiring hum around Bucky's dick.

"Yeah—fuck, it's good, Steve," Bucky managed, and then Steve started moving his finger and an entire new set of nerve endings lit Bucky up from the inside. He clutched the sheets as he tried to arch up and Steve held him down, effortlessly, like it was nothing. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could make were noises.

Steve kept moving, such a slow, steady movement, hardly more than a crook of his finger, but it was burning through Bucky's body in tandem with Steve's mouth hot around Bucky's dick. Bucky felt like he was breaking into pieces, like his body was a language and the only word was yes, and he wanted to warn Steve that he was coming, but he couldn't speak. It felt like every muscle tightened, Steve's fingers bruising against his hip, and then he was coming and it kept going, his cock pulsing in Steve's mouth, Steve's finger still moving relentlessly. He came for what felt like an impossible eternity, and then he was done, panting and gasping, his hands wrapped in the sheets, his body twitching as he came back to himself.

Steve lifted his head and pressed a kiss into Bucky's hips, right next to where his fingers had dug in. He slowly pulled his other finger out, and Bucky tried to process the transition from fullness to emptiness.

Steve slid up his body and folded him into his arms. "Was that all right?" Steve kissed the notch of his collarbone.

Bucky managed a chuckle that didn't sound entirely wrecked. _Was that all right?_ Honestly. "That was the hardest I ever came in my whole life." He reached up so he could pull Steve's face to his and kiss him, his fingers tangled in short, golden hair. He licked into his mouth, nipped at his lower lip. "It's your turn, sweetheart, let me—" He reached down, where Steve's cock was hard and hot against his hip, but Steve wriggled away.

"After we eat." he said, and grabbed Bucky's wrists. He pinned them under one huge hand and when Bucky arched up, he splayed the other over Bucky's chest, spanning the distance between his nipples, and it was too much too soon, but fuck, Bucky wanted it anyhow.

"What about now and then again after we eat," he suggested.

"Let me feed you," Steve said softly, his hand pressing into the concave space of Bucky's belly. "You gotta be hungry, Bucky, come on."

And Bucky had managed to forget about the constant ache in his gut while Steve was breaking him down into his component parts, but his stomach rumbled at that, and Steve smiled. 

~o~

When the shit had Steve learned to cook? Bucky glowered at him disbelievingly as best as he could with half his brain sucked out through his dick. Steve's huge shoulders bent over the task of chopping a bunch of mushrooms into tiny cubes.

"I'm making a duxelles," Steve said, his face going red.

"The fuck is a duxelles," Bucky said.

"What I'm going to put on your steak," Steve said. He chopped a shallot into equally tiny pieces and dropped a knob of butter into the pan.

"When did you figure that out?" Bucky could almost believe that he'd had the knowledge dropped into his head the same time his body had blown up; Steve could burn water and fuck up hard boiled eggs when Bucky left for basic, and something inside of him felt hollow and aching to think of Steve learning that by himself, without him.

Steve went even redder. "Your ma kept me fed before I left," he said in a rush, "and Becca." He rocked the big knife back and forth over the shallots, mincing them smaller. "But really, it was the girls on the USO tour that taught me how to cook." He scraped the shallots off the board with the knife and dropped them and the mushrooms into the melted butter

"Yeah," Bucky said, almost by rote, "what else did they teach you?" Not because—fuck, he had no right to be jealous, not when he was the dumbass who was always trying to get them double dates, the idiot who was always out late with a girl—Steve deserved to do whatever the fuck he wanted with whoever he wanted, especially when Bucky had been the joe too stupid or too stubborn to make a move.

But Steve shot him a look, his blue eyes bright under lashes that were just as long as they'd always been. He reached out with the hand that didn't have the wooden spoon and planted it in the middle of Bucky's sternum, next to his dog tags, and Bucky let out a gusty sigh in response.

"You want to hear about the USO gals, I'll tell you," Steve said. He withdrew his hand and stirred the duxelles. "You want to get mad about it, forget it."

Bucky let himself unwind, forced down the part of him that was hurt and small and always ready to fight since the factory. "I don't want to get mad about it. I'm just kicking myself for being slow."

Steve lay the spoon on the cutting board and crowded into Bucky's space, surrounding him with his body. Bucky didn't mind at all, especially when Steve leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet. "I think we're right on time. We're here now," Steve said into the crook of Bucky's neck, his big hands rubbing down Bucky's sides like he could settle him with his touch.

It was working, too; Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve again, reached up to lay his palm around the angle of Steve's jawline, sucking on his lower lip, watching Steve's eyes dilate when he did, letting his hand drop to the muscle of Steve's chest.

"After dinner," Steve said. "Come on, I don't want to let this burn."

Bucky let go of him reluctantly, watching as he stirred the mixture, sniffing appreciatively and telling Steve how good it smelled as the pan for the steaks heated. Steve ducked his head as he oiled the pan and cooked the steaks and fried the potatoes, smiled at Bucky as he poured them both a glass of a red wine so dark it was almost black, something French. 

Hunger had cramped Bucky's guts since the factory, no matter how much he ate, to the point that he wasn't sure it was hunger at all, but maybe some strange effect of the German drugs they'd pumped him full of. Either way the smell of the food hooked into his gut, and he dug in as soon as Steve did, and for a little while, conversation lapsed between then as they ate.

It was all so good, and the fact that Steve had made it for him made it taste even better. The mushrooms and shallots and butter on top of the steak were, as promised, fucking delicious, and the potatoes were crispy, and the wine had a peppery bite to it that complimented every bite.

"This is really fucking good," Bucky said once he was able to slow down.

"Yeah?" Steve said, smiling like he'd won something.

Bucky ate another bite and swallowed it down with a sip of wine. "Yeah. I don't even know how you got all this."

"I pulled a couple strings," Steve said. "You look like you need it."

Bucky had swallow for reasons entirely unrelated to food. "Steve—"

"Come on, Buck," Steve said. "You're always taking care of me. I want to take care of you."

Bucky flushed. He could feel it in his cheeks, in the burning of his ears. "Okay."

Steve didn't even let him help clean up once they were done eating, just made Bucky sit back and watch. It made Bucky itchy, like he wasn't pulling his weight, and he had to remind himself of the thousand times he'd been on the other end of it, sitting on Steve to keep him from overexerting himself when he was sick. He had a lot more sympathy for past-Steve now, and he was going to try not to give present-Steve the full experience that he'd gotten.

So he sat and watched, trying not to twitch while Steve washed the plates and glasses, until finally Steve finished and dried his hands off on a towel. He came back to the table where Bucky was still sitting, looking at him, and held out a hand.

"You got plans?" Bucky said, because there was something about the curve of Steve's mouth that said he did.

"Yeah," Steve smiled, and it was just as pretty as it have ever been, soft lips maybe crossing a different distance over his squarer jaw, but Bucky would recognize him anywhere, and now he knew how they felt pressed against his. "Let's go back upstairs."

And it didn't take any more than that to have Bucky scrambling up, following Steve back up to where Steve had pulled him to pieces before dinner.

"It's my turn," Bucky said as they walked back into the bedroom.

"Not yet," Steve said. "We haven't had dessert." And then Steve bent over his pack and pulled out a chocolate bar, one of the ones he'd been saving. He'd already given Bucky another one, while he was still stuck in medical.

"Steve," Bucky managed, feeling like he himself was also a bit of melted chocolate, hot and stretched out and sweet.

Steve fell back against the bed and patted the mattress beside him. Bucky climbed in next to him, and Steve pulled him close so that their sides were a long line of warmth against each other, Bucky protected in the crook of Steve's arm. One-handed, Steve broke off a piece of chocolate and held it to Bucky's mouth. Bucky opened up obediently. It was good, much better than the army-issued chocolate. God only knew where Steve had gotten it. It was dark, sweet and faintly bitter, and Steve stroked Bucky's shoulder as he chewed.

"I wanted to feed you the other one," Steve said quietly.

"That would have made a pretty picture in the medical tent," Bucky said.

Steve laughed, and broke off a piece for himself, his thumb still drawing circles on Bucky's shoulder. It was ridiculous to be so turned on by that touch, over his shirt and hardly moving at all.

Bucky turned his head into Steve and kissed across his jaw into his mouth. He tasted of chocolate and wine, and he let out a little moan when Bucky slipped his arm around him, and honestly, Bucky was torn between wanting to stay right here forever and wanting to peel Steve's clothes right back off him.

They kissed almost lazily for a few minutes, but then Bucky worked his hand under Steve's shirt so he could stroke across the skin of his ribs. Steve's breath shuddered in his mouth, and their movements took on a different tenor, heated, more frantic.

Bucky shifted a little so he was pressed up against Steve, the ridge of Steve's cock hot against his hip, the friction against his own a rising tide of pleasure.

" _Fuck_ ," Steve said, his hand tightening on Bucky's hip.

"Yeah?" Bucky's pulse was coming faster, and he nipped lightly at Steve's bottom lip. "That could be arranged."

Steve pulled back just far enough to look at him, maybe to see how serious he was. "I don't—" he flushed a deep red. "I don't have a lot of practical experience."

"It's okay, Steve, I don't either, not like this." Bucky pulled him close and kissed him again. "We can figure it out together."

"I, uh. My friend Arnie, from art school. I asked him." Steve was, if at all possible, even redder. and the blush had swept down over his shoulders and onto his chest. Bucky traced its path with his hand, just for fun. He knew Arnie Roth, had met him several times. Had patched Steve up more than once after he'd taken a punch on Arnie's behalf after someone called him a queer. Not because it wasn't true, but because no one should be a bully about it. Steve sucked in a breath as Bucky's fingers slid over his nipple.

"What did you ask him?" Bucky watched his face.

Steve smiled, still blushing. "About how to make it feel good."

Bucky thought about Steve, probably as red as he was right now if not redder, stumbling his way through whatever questions he'd had and Arnie's answers, and his heart swelled up in his chest until he could almost feel it press against his ribcage. Everything else was complicated and dark, but not this. Not Steve. Not the feelings between them.

"Felt really good, earlier," he said. Steve ducked his head, smiling, and Bucky had to kiss him. This time it didn't get heated, it already was heated.

"How do you want to do this," Bucky said when they stopped for breath, his hand gripping into Steve's side harder than he meant to, but he couldn't seem to let go.

"I don't know, Buck, how _do_ you want to do this?"

"Are you gonna put it in me?" he whispered into Steve's ear, and that made Steve moan, all right.

"Christ, Bucky." Steve spread his hands over Bucky's hips, large and warm, and rocked against him. Bucky could feel Steve's hard-on against him, hot and big. "Actually, I thought you could fuck me first."

Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat. "Are you sure? You’ll have to talk me through it, since you did all the research."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to," Steve said, his voice a little deeper, his pupils a little wider, and hey, what a surprise: Steve liked the thought of bossing him around. Bucky grinned and kissed him again. Steve made a sound in his throat and then pinned Bucky down and straddled him, sitting up abruptly so he could run both hands down Bucky's torso. Bucky arched up into the touch, shameless.

"Take your clothes off," Steve said, and got off Bucky only long enough to move the forgotten chocolate bar to the side table and pull out a tube of KY jelly. Bucky's throat was suddenly dry, because this was happening, it was happening now. He pulled his shirt up over his head, almost shy again despite the fact that Steve had already seen him scrawnier than he'd been since he was a teenager, despite knowing that he had wanted Steve when he was smaller; despite knowing that what was between them was bigger than just their bodies.

"You still have your pants on," Steve said. "You need me to help you take 'em off?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, "why don't you do that."

Steve tossed the lube on the bed and hooked his fingers in Bucky's waistband. He popped the buttons one by one, taking any excuse to drag his fingers over Bucky's cock through the fabric. Bucky fell back on his elbows and watched, his breath hitching with Steve's movements. Finally Steve pulled Bucky's pants and cotton shorts off together, dragging them slowly off his legs and tossing them off to the side somewhere.

Steve pulled his own undershirt over his head, and Bucky marveled—again—at the fucking _expanse_ of him. He was so broad and muscular, a fucking Charles Atlas. He unbuttoned his own pants a lot faster than he had Bucky's and shoved them down unceremoniously. He climbed back onto the bed and kissed his way up Bucky until Bucky could get his hands on him.

He didn't think he would ever get tired of touching Steve, of proving to himself, over and over, that he was real, that he was here. In the factory, he thought he'd dreamed him, Steve-but-not-Steve, but every touch proved him again. He curved his fingers around Steve's wide shoulders and pulled him closer until they were connected all along the lines of their bodies, legs entwined, pressed together belly and chest.

Steve rolled over, pulling Bucky with him until Bucky was on top of him. 

They both gasped at the friction of the movement, and Bucky let his head fall forward until he could bite Steve's shoulder. Steve made a helpless, gasping noise and Bucky moved down to his lick his nipple. "Tell me what I need to do," he said.

Steve threw his head back against the pillow. "Start with one finger. Get it real wet." He scrabbled through the sheets and tossed the tube over to Bucky. Bucky caught it and sat up, moving Steve's long legs so he was between them. He uncapped the tube and coated a finger liberally. 

Steve was hot and tight as he pressed in slowly, watching Steve's face to gauge his reaction as he relaxed his muscles and let Bucky in, more easily, he thought, than he himself had. He crooked his finger and stroked, trying to find the place inside Steve that had given him so much pleasure. He knew when he had because Steve moaned and gave a full body shudder, and his legs fell open a little more.

"Bucky," Steve said on an exhale, and Bucky kept stroking, one finger inside Steve, the other hand moving almost lazily on Steve's dick. Steve's chest heaved with the force of his breath, a flush traveling down his chest. "Unh. I, I'm ready for another one."

"You sure?" Bucky pressed a kiss into the soft skin of his inner thigh.

"Yeah," Steve said, and his voice shuddered with the movement of Bucky's hands. "I, uh, I tried it by myself."

" _Fuck_ ," Bucky said, with feeling, because this was a mental image he would be revisiting often. "God, Steve, you’re going to have to show me that sometime."

He let go of Steve's dick only long enough to slather lube on his middle finger, then worked them both in slowly, stretching the muscle and skin as gently as he could. Steve let his head loll back, and tiny beads of sweat sprang up on his chest. Bucky promised himself that he would lick them off at the first opportunity.

Steve was making the very best sounds, hitched breaths and groans and _uhns_ , and his hips rocked forward. "Bucky, come on, I'm ready," he said, and fuck, Bucky was ready too, but the last thing he wanted was to hurt Steve.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, and this time, Steve got that chin-out, shoulders-squared look that Bucky usually saw right before he punched someone twice his size. How Steve could still do it with two fingers up his ass, he had no idea.

"Come on," Steve said.

Bucky pulled his fingers out slowly and slicked up his cock, trying not to let himself focus on how good it felt, on how he was about to be in Steve; otherwise he'd only last a second, and he wanted it to be good for Steve. Steve hooked a knee over his shoulder, Bucky lined himself up, then hesitated, looking at Steve.

Steve made a sound somewhere between a groan and saying _fuck_ , and pulled Bucky forward. Bucky grabbed Steve's hip with his free hand and pushed in as slow as Steve would let him.

He had to stop once the head of his cock was past the ring of muscle. Steve was still trying to pull him forward, but if Bucky went this would be over before it started.

"Wait, wait," he said, and Steve gave him a moment to adjust to the feel of him, so tight, so hot. Steve ran hotter than most guys these days, when he'd always been a little cold before. Bucky hadn’t spared a thought for what that might mean when he was inside of him, and now he wasn’t sure how he would ever think of anything else. Bucky braced himself with the hand that wasn't holding his dick and let his head fall forward onto Steve's shoulder. After a long moment, he was ready, and pressed forward again.

Steve moaned as Bucky slowly inched into him, until Bucky was fully seated inside of him. He wasn't sure if it was his or Steve's pulse that he felt beating against him at the point of their connection, but it didn't matter. He clutched at Steve, and pressed open-mouthed kisses against his shoulder, his chest, whatever he could reach.

"Is this okay?" Bucky said, overwhelmed by sensation and the knowledge that he was inside of Steve, their bodies as close as they could possibly be.

Steve turned his head so he could kiss him sloppily. "Be better if you move."

Bucky snorted a laugh and pulled back only to thrust forward, trying to angle himself to mimic the path his fingers had taken.

"F-fuck," Steve said on the third stroke, and Bucky couldn't stop himself smiling. He picked up the pace, reaching between them to get his hand around Steve's cock. It wasn't a great angle, but Steve moaned anyway, and it was dark outside and dim in the room with only the lamp illuminating them, but Bucky felt like a summer afternoon made of light, sweet as chocolate.

He sank his teeth into his lip as he thrust, trying to keep himself from coming too soon, his hand moving on Steve, Steve tight around him like nothing else he'd ever felt, until Steve gasped "Buck," and all the muscles of his abdomen clenched, and he came over Bucky's hand, hot and wet, and his muscles tightened with his orgasm, and then Bucky was coming too, gasping and talking nonsense against Steve's mouth.

Bucky pulled out of Steve slowly, then collapsed against him, his head pillowed on Steve's chest. He took the opportunity to lick at Steve's sweaty nipple and Steve curled up protectively.

"Too much," he said, and Bucky patted his chest apologetically.

"Was that good?" he said, because he had personally never come so hard and if Steve said differently, he was going to have to up his game.

Steve laughed softly and turned to kiss him. "Yeah, it was good. It was amazing. But I'm pretty sure anything will be, if it's with you."

Bucky turned his head into the smooth muscle of Steve's chest and smiled against his skin, happiness bubbling up inside of him.

"Let's try it all. We've got all weekend." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This got even MORE Steve taking care of Bucky than i intended inititally because i'm having a lot of Bucky feelings at the moment. The next installment of this series will most likely return us to our regularly scheduled ridiculousness.


End file.
